


at the touch of you

by blerghie



Category: Mobile Legends: Bang Bang (Video Game)
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Not Beta Read, PWP without Porn, Sparring, alucard being a creep but like in a cute and concerned way, graphic depictions of horniness, why isn't that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23890720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blerghie/pseuds/blerghie
Summary: He holds his armored hand against Granger’s throat, metal digging into the skin that goes pink at the pressure, mouth going dry as he tries not to notice how Granger’s breath hitches, red eyes glazing over, a lovely flush spreading over his cheeks.
Relationships: Alucard/Granger (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	at the touch of you

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Witter Byner’s poem, “At the touch of you.”
> 
> i can't believe my first work in like a year or so is almost-porn from mobile legends jadhkajsgdasfb

Granger ties his bandages haphazardly. It’s not easy to notice when he wears his long-sleeved cloak or his knee-high boots, but the bandages start out smooth, covering every inch of his forearms, the curve of his feet, his calves, his waist, before it devolves messily and unevenly like tangled strings, tied at his bicep, thighs and over his chest.

During training, he likes to wear loose clothing—a small but loose top that clearly used to belong to Miss Vance, covering his chest but leaving his bandaged torso open, and long open pants that reach the top of his knees and securely tied at his waist. Alucard is fairly certain that used to belong to Tigreal. It’s too big and too loose, and slings low over him despite the string, just at the point where his hipbone juts out, a sliver of skin visible between his bandages and the top of his pants.

Alucard has the urge to run a finger along that skin and barely keeps his hands by his waist, but there’s a taste of dissatisfaction in his mouth at the thought of Granger in someone else’s clothing.

“Want to spar?” Granger says, which startles Alucard. He raises an eyebrow, the one with the deep scar that runs halfway through his face, and waits.

He’s been staring for a while now, Alucard notices, and it should probably embarrass him. Oddly, he’s not. He always stares at Granger. This isn’t different. He says, “Of course.”

The Moniyan Empire’s training grounds, at this time in the morning, are sparse with people. Most assignments are assigned by nightfall and enacted before sunrise as per the protocol; otherwise, most hunters would be asleep, resting, or recovering. Granger, so far, has been the only one to break protocol as an unofficial hunter for the Empire. His schedule seems to be one according to his random wiles, but there’s a definite pattern there that had taken Alucard thirty-seven weeks to figure out.

Granger would come from a week-long renaissance mission in the Abyss. He will sleep the whole night in the living unit provided to him by the Empire, wake up at three in the morning, and directly head to the training grounds. He will kick, punch and shoot at dummies until it’s time for lunch.

Alucard had figured this one out by the eighth week and joined him by the thirteenth. And then that habit rearranged itself—Granger goes here all the time now, regardless of the duration of the mission or if there was a mission at all. And Alucard would join him unless he couldn’t.

“Do you want to eat first?” Alucard then says. From three in the morning to twelve in the afternoon, Granger will neither eat nor acknowledge the fact that he’s hungry. Alucard definitely did not bring pomegranates and lotus seeds, tucked in a small wooden lunch box for this very reason.

“No, I’m fine,” Granger says, not impolitely. “I’ll eat later.” He walks, still barefoot with only bandages wrapped around the instep of his feet and encircling his ankles, to the one of the sparring areas, where the ground is considerably more even, with white paint indicating the square-shaped boundary. He doesn’t like being forced to eat, though Alucard needles him and tries to trick him. Sometimes it works. Right now, he doesn’t think it will, so he follows him there.

He shrugs off his own long coat, placing it neatly on one of the benches.

“Begin?” he says, stepping into the boundary lines.

“Begin,” confirms Granger.

Alucard lunges first—he always does. Throughout his stay at the Moniyan Empire, he had been trained for offensive attacks, brute force in the lines of his shoulders traveling down his arms. He charges, initiates, rides headfirst into battle.

Granger dodges his first kick and then his first punch. His body is leaner than Alucard’s—he’s a marksman, after all, trained to attack from a distance. He’s not built for melee attacks at all, but he’s good at evasion. He’s fast and nimble on his feet, twisting to the left when Alucard parries and rolling away when Alucard slams a heavy kick into the ground.

Half an hour into, Granger’s cheeks flush with effort, a droplet of sweat traveling from his temple to his jaw to his neck and to the dip of his collarbones.

He’s a good sparring partner for Alucard. He’s a bad sparring partner for Alucard.

 _Don’t you dare,_ Alucard tells his body.

Then, in a burst of speed, Granger hits his neck first, and the small of his back second. Alucard slumps to the ground.

“Ah,” Alucard says. Granger didn’t put much strength into hitting his pressure points, but the shock of it made him still for longer than usual.

“Good fight,” offers Granger. He holds out his hand.

In a fit of insanity, Alucard takes his hand and _pulls._

Granger’s eyes widen before he crashes into Alucard— _don’t react, don’t react—_ who uses his right hand to grab the back of his neck, one foot against his ankle, and flips them around.

Alucard digs his feet into Granger’s calves, knees spread on either side of his hips for balance while left arm pins Granger’s wrists above his head.

Like this, his face is very close. “I guess I win,” says Alucard, breathless.

“You—” Granger struggles against him, but Alucard’s not budging. He can feel his breath against his mouth, warm and wet. He holds his armored hand against Granger’s throat, metal digging into the skin that goes pink at the pressure.

Granger stills. Then, in a soft breath, quiet, Granger says, “You cheated.” His voice is low, and dark, and deep, like he’s whispering a secret into the void.

Alucard’s mouth goes dry. “Did I?”

The claws of his armored hand dig deeper. He tries not to notice how Granger’s breath hitches, red eyes glazing over, a lovely flush spreading over his cheeks. Tries not to notice the growing interest rising in his cock, the beating of his own heart thrumming against his chest like a drum. Tries not to notice Granger, underneath him, at his mercy.

 _Fuck,_ Alucard thinks. His claws tighten. _Fuck._

“Fuck,” Granger gasps, eyes staring into his—oh, no, he said it out loud.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Alucard thinks wildly. Granger’s open mouth is wet and soft and pink. His dark hair is plastered against his sweaty forehead, strands of white mixing in, curling up at the end. That thrice-damned flush of his reaches his neck. Perhaps lower _. I want to know where it reaches._

 _I want to fuck you so bad. I want to fuck you until you can’t breathe_ , he thinks. His body feels hot. His gaze slides down, fingers tightening over Granger’s neck, the skin pinking underneath. Any tighter and blood vessels would burst underneath the skin. Granger will carry those bruises, shaped in Alucard’s hand, for a week. Maybe longer.

Gods.

 _I want to tease you until you beg for my cock inside you,_ Alucard thinks, _I want to push you into the ground and choke you until you’re crying and your skin is marked by my teeth, my hand, my spend—I’d kiss you, I’d take care of you so, so well, I love y—_

“I’m,” Alucard says, suddenly letting go and—Granger’s neck is flushed, dark and soft. There are bruises on his skin, small, inconspicuous ones that’ll leave within the day. Alucard tries not to be disappointed. It’s futile; he is extremely disappointed. “I have—to—to go.”

He leaves the room as fast as his feet can carry him. He hopes Granger doesn’t notice his hardness, how it strains against his pants, how eager he was to touch him.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks when he reaches his room, slamming the door shut and shoving a hand down his pants and tries not to think of Granger’s mouth, or his gasp, or his body underneath his, or the flush on his skin.

He fails.

**Author's Note:**

> alucard came in like three pulls lol 
> 
> also granger was just as horny, but alucard was too busy gay-panicking to notice. sorry bby he's an idiot, better luck next time


End file.
